


start a fire that can never be put out

by purplevanity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplevanity/pseuds/purplevanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Stiles thought he was over Lydia, and one time he knew he'd never be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	start a fire that can never be put out

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Teen Wolf fanfic, so don't be too harsh. Pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. I was inspired by a tumblr post on the stydia tag but I can't find it right now, sorry!!
> 
> Title from "Tell Her You Love Her" by Echosmith, which is going on any Stydia mixes I'd make.

_When she says she needs you_   
_Tell her you need her too_   
_You tell her clearly_   
_Speak what your heart wants you to_   
_Tell her she's lovely_   
_Always tell her the truth_

_\-- "Tell Her You Love Her,"_ **Echosmith**

* * *

 

**(5) Heather**

“Lydia isn’t the kind of girl you just _get over_ , Scott.”

They’re sitting on Scott’s bed, all elbows and nervous eight-year-old energy, and they’re talking about girls. Well, not quite – it had started with Stiles trying to get Scott to watch _Star Wars_ with him, to which Scott had politely refused – “Sci-fi just isn’t my thing, man.” “It’s _my_ thing! How is it not _your_ thing, too?” – and then the conversation had  turned to girls – “Scotty, science fiction is not a _girl_ thing, okay, it’s part of your graduation to manhood.” “Stiles, that’s not fair. I’m sure there are girls out there who like science fiction. I saw Erica wearing a _Star Trek_ hoodie the other day.” And as all conversations with Stiles regarding girls eventually turned out, Stiles brought up his favorite topic.

“It’s a crush, Stiles. Lots of boys have crushes on Lydia,” Scott says, helpfully but softly. He puts his hand on his best friend’s knee. “And then there’s always someone else the next week.”

The tips of Stiles’s ears turn pink and he scowls and looks away. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mutters. “Not like _you’ve_ ever had a crush.”

Scott smiles shyly and looks away, his hand scratching the back of his neck. It’s true – they’re eight years old and not a single person in their class has made Scott smile the way Lydia makes Stiles smile. Stiles knows better, though; knows that Scott is the kind of person who’ll one day meet one special someone and love them until the end of the world. Until then, all bets are off. “Still, Stiles.”

“Whatever, dude.” Stiles flops down on Scott’s bed, his hands behind his head. “Lydia’s great. Lydia’s super smart and really pretty, and I’m sorry you can’t appreciate that, buddy, but I can.”

As it turns out, Scott’s kind of right – two weeks later Heather has her ninth birthday party and Stiles goes. He hasn’t seen Heather in _months_ and she looks really nice in her green dress and French braid, and she’s sweet and nice and holds his hand and sneaks him an extra slice of cake at the end of the party, and Stiles and yeah, maybe the thought of her makes a blush kind of creep up Stiles’s cheeks.

He goes to school the next day conflicted, wondering if he should tell Scott. Although Scott’s nice Stiles doesn’t really want to see it go to his head, _especially_ not after Stiles had crowed about how Lydia had actually smiled at him a week ago.

But then Lydia’s standing on the steps saying goodbye to her mother, and she turns and Stiles sees she’s wearing a green dress and looking more beautiful than Heather could ever look in green, and the sunlight striking her makes her hair look like fire. She shoots him a half-smile of acknowledgement and Stiles feels the familiar grin creep over his face. Scott can go suck it.

* * *

  **(4) Jackson**

They’re in middle school and Lydia has stopped acknowledging Stiles’s existence.

It’s not that he _blames_ her, not really; Lydia doesn’t really _have_ to smile at him in the hallways even if they’ve known each other a good six years by now – for a certain degree of “known,” of course. Lydia aces every class and is so far above him social circle-wise that Stiles almost thinks she’d be embarrassing herself if she so much as made eye contact with him in English.

Scott has long stopped trying to nudge Stiles away from Lydia and has accepted his feelings as part of the whole Stiles Stilinski package, so it’s a little surprising when he turns around in third period and tells him softly, “Lydia’s going out with Jackson now.”

Stiles frowns and sputters most ungracefully. “ _What_? How did you – who did–”

“I heard from Boyd who heard from Caitlyn,” Scott explains. He looks around at their teacher, who’s still busy reading a problem off the textbook, and adds, “Just thought you should know.”

_You shouldn’t have_ , Stiles thinks as Scott hurriedly turns around. Lydia Martin is popular enough that any news about her dating life will be front-page news by tomorrow. Jackson isn’t her first boyfriend but it isn’t surprising in the least that she’d choose him – he’d only been at Beacon Hills Middle School for a couple of months but had already jockeyed his way to the top of the social pyramid, and, it seemed, had earned Danny’s friendship as well as Lydia’s love.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he’d said to Scott later, “She can date whoever she wants.” Even if it’s Jackson, who looks at Stiles like he’s the scourge of the earth. Stiles will not be _that guy_ , and spends the rest of the day convincing himself that Lydia is firmly out of his league and that if the universe really wanted them together, it would have _done something_ by now.

He almost believes it until the next day, when he opens an empty classroom while looking for chalk and stumbles upon Jackson leaning on Lydia leaning on the chalkboard, their mouths making the grossest sounds he’s ever heard. Stiles debates if he should say something or make a beeline for it.

Lydia turns as red as her lips and _oh god he should really look somewhere else_. “Stiles!” she shrieks, throwing a notebook at him. Jackson just glares.

Stiles chooses the latter option, all the while thinking how red Lydia’s lips looked.

Nope, definitely doesn’t bother him.

* * *

  **(3) Cora**

He doesn’t really talk to Scott about Lydia anymore. Scott’s heard everything Stiles has to say about a hundred and fifty times, from Lydia’s tiny 5’3 frame to the jade sparkle of her eyes to her dream of winning the Fields Medal. Besides, Scott’s (kind of) with Allison, and they’re so disgustingly perfect together that Stiles would roll his eyes and look away if these two people weren’t his dearest friends in the world. And, oh yeah, the whole werewolf thing.

He kind of appreciates it, even as people die left and right around them, because the werewolf thing had let Allison into Scott’s (and by default his) life. Lydia came with Allison, even if it was begrudgingly at first. It’s so damningly wonderful how Scott’s wolfing out catalyzed the development of their friendship, and Lydia’s gone from ignoring him in the hallways to calling him at night, filling him in on her new banshee developments and theorizing with him on the Darach’s newest targets.

But he doesn’t dare _do_ anything, despite their new, comfortable friendship – Jackson’s in Europe but Stiles knows he took a piece of Lydia’s heart with him, and what had started as furious heartbeats when he saw her had slowed to a dull ache. Besides, there’s Cora.

Cora’s a lot like her brother in many ways, and couldn’t be more different from Lydia if she tried – she shares Derek’s tall, dark appearance, cool milieu and penchant for sarcasm, but also his soft interior and tight-lipped smiles. And Stiles likes those about Derek, but he finds he likes them more about Cora, especially when they’re directed at him. She laughs like she owns the world, borrows his plaid shirts and doesn’t give them back, and can easily take him down in a fight. Their friendship is surprisingly easy, considering how difficult it was to wear down Derek’s walls. Cora is mind-blowingly awesome, and sometimes (just sometimes) Stiles feels his gut coiling in that familiar way.

But then she falls ill and Isaac is a constant presence by her bedside, and Stiles realizes he’s been missing out on something so much bigger and more precious than him. It stings a little but not as much as he thought it would. Deaton says something about _emotional tethers_ and _pulling you back_ and Lydia’s eyes meet his across the room, and he thinks the stars might be in their favor after all.

* * *

  **(2) Malia**

Isaac, Ethan, and Cora are gone. Allison and Aiden are dead. Scott is inconsolable. Nothing feels right anymore.

Being in control of his own body again is at once a gift and a curse – he’s free, but sometimes he can hear Allison’s choked breath as the katana ran through her, hear Lydia’s pained scream as clear as day, and he wonders if the darkness is truly gone after all.

After the funeral he locks himself in his room and tears down the pictures. There’s so _many_ – of him and Scott, him and Lydia, Isaac, Derek, Allison, Cora, even a few of the twins – and he thinks of burning them, but to do so would be to erase Allison’s beautiful smile, so he hides them in a box under his head.

But then there’s Malia, who’s beautiful and loves him and needs him and doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t tell Malia about Peter, or Jackson, or Matt, or Gerard. She doesn’t know about Kate, or Jackson, or Erica, or Boyd, or Jennifer, or Aiden, or Allison. There’s so much pain, so much loss, that he decides he’d better spare her. She hasn’t been human for long. It wouldn’t do for her to look at him with sad eyes the way Lydia does so soon.

(He knows Lydia wants to talk, but he can’t bring himself to do it – she can hold his hand and tell her she forgives him a million times but Stiles will never believe it. He knows Lydia loved Allison more than she ever loved Stiles, and can’t understand what she could ever see in him besides the face of her best friend’s killer.)

Anyway, Malia –

Malia is a lot like Cora in the sense that she doesn’t give a shit what he’s been through – their little shared history makes sure of that. They fall into each other easily, both lost in different ways, and he thinks that he loves her bluntness and casual manner and pride when she understand a human thing and the wicked glint in her eye, and that maybe he loves all of her, too.

It’s easier like this, to hold Malia’s hand in the hallways and pretend everything’s all right, even as more people die around them – he’s a normal boy with a hot girlfriend whom he loves, whom he makes out with in movie theaters. Sometimes he even believes it.

* * *

  **(1) Jordan**

“There are around twenty different reasons why this is a terrible idea, Lyds.” They’re talking on the phone for the first time in what feels like forever.

She groans over the phone. “Name five.”

“Okay, one – he’s seven years older than you–”

“Lots of couples have a bigger age difference–”

“Not when one of them is underage, okay, two, he _works for my dad_ –”

“How is that a good reason?” He can hear the smile in Lydia’s voice. “Your dad loves me.”

_Like a daughter_ , Stiles thinks a bit sourly, but he braves on. “Three, we still don’t know what the _hell_ he is and for all we know he could be some evil were-dinosaur–”

“ _Stiles_.” Lydia’s voice is sad. “It’s okay. I can take care of myself. Besides, he’s a good listener.”

He pauses at that, listens to the implications – one, that Lydia would want someone to listen to her, that she _needs one_ , that two – that it’s because nobody’s been listening to her lately – follows, and the truth of it gnaws at his chest. “I talked about Allison about him, Stiles,” she adds, her voice barely above a whisper, and he winces. “I can’t do that with you guys.”

_You could have talked about it with me_ , he thinks, but knows instantly that it’s a lie. She’s right – Liam, Malia, and Kira don’t know enough. Scott is too weighed down by sadness, Derek by distance, and Stiles by his own guilt, and _dammit_ , he hadn’t even paid that much attention to Lydia’s retreat into herself after Allison’s death, and the shame burns throughout his body. 

This is good for her, he knows that. He knows how hard it is to not have anyone to lean on, and _fuck it_ , as her goddamn tether it was in his job description to be that for her. Supernatural or no, Jordan is more normal than either Jackson or Aiden, and _besides_ – this isn’t like with Jackson. He and Lydia are friends now, as fragile and as stretched thin that friendship may be after everything that had gone down. Lydia needs someone normal, someone stable, someone who’ll buy her flowers and see her off to her inevitable Ivy League destiny. She deserves that much, and that’s something he can’t give.

* * *

  **(0)  Lydia**

She comes to visit him a week after Mexico.

He doesn’t know why. At first thinks it’s because another banshee thing has happened, that more people are dying, before she looks at him with hurt eyes. It’s odd how surprised he is – before Allison’s death this had been normal, Lydia staying till late at Stiles’s place where they’d talk and be smart together. But now he knows she feels like a stranger in his room, can see it in the delicate way she holds herself on his bed.

“You put back the pictures,” she says by way of making conversation, gesturing to the wall.

“Yeah,” he says, always the tiniest bit breathless when he talks to her. “I felt like we could all do with more remembering.”

Lydia pushes herself off the bed and moves towards it, her green sweater falling off her shoulders. “I remember this,” she says, smiling fondly. He moves to her side and looks at the photo she points at. It’s during spring break of junior year, when Chris and Allison had taken the pack down to a relative’s villa in Beverly Hills and they’d spent a few totally normal days living the high life. In the photo, Scott and Stiles are passed out on the couch and Lydia and Allison are on their laps, the laughter evident in their faces. Allison is holding a marker and doodling on Scott’s face. “She was the only one with hands light and precise enough to get away with it,” Lydia muses. “Isaac wanted to draw dicks on your face.”

It seems so long ago – before Meredith, before the Calaveras, before the Yukimuras, before anything truly irreparable. He wonders how Isaac’s doing – the postcards have been coming less and less frequently now. Lydia bites her lip.

Before he can help it, his arms are around her, holding her close. She leans into him easily, and turns to return the hug. “I missed you, Lyds.”

Lydia must have heard the anguish in his voice, because her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Stiles,” she says softly. “You know I could never hate you.” There it is, he thinks – months of sadness and silent suffering laid out into the open, just like that. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, one of his arms around hers and the other curled in her hair, but it’s enough.

“I fought them off, you know,” she says when they break apart. “The Berserkers. With a bat.”

She beams at him, lovely and natural, and for the first time in a long time Stiles feels warmth blooming in his chest. His hand finds hers and their fingers curl together in the most natural way, and the words form in his head before he can stop them –

_Lydia Martin, you’re just not the kind of girl one just gets over, are you?_

* * *

  _Let me stumble into_

  _not the confession but_

_the obsession I begin with_

_now. For you_

 

_also (also)_

_some time beyond place, or_

_place beyond time, no_

_mind left to_

 

_say anything at all,_

_that face gone, now._

_Into the company of love_

_it all returns._

  
_-"For Love,"_   **Robert Creeley**


End file.
